


This Week, Ipswich!

by YouHateInvisiblePie



Category: Cabin Pressure, Red vs Blue
Genre: AU, Cabin Pressure AU, Gen, canon typical cursing, iz rvb challenge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-18
Updated: 2016-06-18
Packaged: 2018-07-15 19:26:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7235503
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YouHateInvisiblePie/pseuds/YouHateInvisiblePie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for the IZ rvb challenge over on tumblr. The prompt was "welcome to the multiverse" aka alternate universes.</p><p>So come fly the friendly skies with RVB Air on their plane Sierra Hotel Echo India Lima Alpha!</p>
            </blockquote>





	This Week, Ipswich!

"Sierra Lima Alpha, continue as cleared," first officer Tucker confirmed with air traffic control.

"Do you want anymore of this?" Church asked, gesturing to the near empty tray that once held crackers and cheeses.

"Nah, let him have it," Tucker replied with a dismissive wave of the hand.

"All right. Caboose!"

Far faster than either of the pilots would have thought possible, the steward, Caboose, burst into the flight deck.

"Yes, Church!"

"The rest of the cheese tray is yours, buddy."

"Oh, wow, almost a whole squidgy one," Caboose said excitedly, picking up the remaining bits of partially eaten cheese and popping them into his mouth. How he managed to chew cheese of all things so loudly was a mystery the pilots had long ago given up on. "It's funny, this is like something I saw on a wildlife show last night," the steward continued talking, despite the mouthful of cheese.

"I was just thinking something similar myself," Tucker mumbled, "and not the fun kind of wildlife show if you know what I mean."

" _That_ is why you watch wildlife shows?" Church asked his copilot.

"Yeah, why does everybody else watch them?"

"To learn about the animals."

"Lame."

"Well not everyone is a giant perv like you Tucker."

"Whatever. Just let Caboose get back to his lame-ass story."

"It was these African hunting dogs, and what they've got is, they've got an alpha dog, beta dogs, and O'Malley dogs."

"O'Malley dogs?" Church asked, skeptically.

"Surely you've heard of O'Malley dogs. They are named after O'Malley the alley cat," Tucker said. "They are male dogs that find lost female dogs with three kids that they help get home to their old, rich, white lady owners."

"The Aristocats , Tucker, really?"

"Don't judge me. I have a kid. Kids watch Disney. So much Disney."

"Whatever," Church replied, rolling his eyes before speaking to Caboose. "Do you mean omega?"

"Oh yeah, maybe. Anyway, when they kill something, the alpha dog eats as much as he wants first, then the beta dogs have a go, and then the O'Malley dogs have the leftovers. And that's like us, isn't it?"

"Not really," Church said, " because Tucker and I share the cheese tray."

"So?" Caboose asked.

"So the alpha dog and beta dog are eating together, dumbass."

"And which is which?" Tucker, the currently lower ranking but more experienced pilot asked.

"I think that's perfectly obvious don't you?" Church, the captain, replied.

"Yes I do."

"So do I."

"Good."

"No, no," Caboose corrected, "I meant you're the two beta dogs."

"What?" Church sounded mildly annoyed.

"Because Wash always has the Camembert off the tray before I bring it in."

"What?!" Now Church sounded offended.

"There's Camembert?!" Tucker complained. "We never get any Camembert!"

"Though thinking about it, that is a secret," Caboose informed them.

"Washington!" Church bellowed.

The owner and CEO of the little charter company, if you could really call one plane and six employees a company, David Washington, entered the now very crowded flight deck.

"Gentlemen," he greeted them, although his tone clearly indicated that he didn't feel the word was an accurate description for who he was addressing, and that he really wanted to call them something else entirely. He held his tongue in the presence of the cockpit voice recorder though.

"Washington we have a complaint," Tucker said.

"Save it for someone who cares," Wash replied. "Now, are you three busy on Monday?"

"Yes," both pilots said firmly.

"Quiet right. Now prepare to learn what it is you will be busy doing."

"No Wash, Monday is our day off. It's been on the wall chart for ages. The reds work on Monday, not us," Church informed his boss.

"Wall charts can lie Church, notoriously deceitful the wall chart," Washington replied, ignoring the complaints. "Anyway, on Monday you'll be delighted to learn that I've booked us a refresher SEP course."

"Oh no," Church groaned.

"Washington!" Tucker whined.

"What's a... that?" Caboose asked.

"Safety and Emergency Procedures," Church explained. "Amongst other things, jumping into a cold swimming pool in uniform and scrambling into life rafts."

"That sounds like fun! I love swimming!"

"That's the spirit," Washington said.

"No that's a bad...," Church gave up. "Oh never mind."

"Wash, I don't need a refresher," Tucker said confidently.

"Of course you do. Procedures change, Tucker. Aircraft change."

"The only time SHEILA changes is when another bit falls off," Tucker grumbled.

"Well, procedures change."

"Is it still pull to go up, push to go down?"

"Yes."

"Then I'm fine. I mean I'm always fine, that is how I get the ladies, but you get the point. I really don't need to go. Now Church on the other hand..."

That resulted in Church punching Tucker on the arm.

"Ouch! I'm flying the plane, asshole!"

"Don't be such a baby," Church replied. "We're not going to crash just because I hit you."

"You are all going," Wash said, clearly fed-up with arguing on the subject.

It didn't go over any better telling his other pilots, the reds, either.

"Can we not go but just say that we did?" First officer Grif suggested.

"If you don't go," the CEO informed them, "the CAA will stop you flying, and although heaven knows that's not a bad idea, my job depends on preventing it."

"Where is it?" The red crew's steward, Donut, asked.

Why were the stewards the only ones being cooperative?

"Ipswich," Washington replied.

"Oh," Donut replied excitedly, " I went on a course on understanding people in Ipswich once."

"It's a good thing we want the people of Ipswich understood then."

"Ipswich isn't a language fat ass," Simmons said.

"I know," Grif replied.

"It sure didn't sound like you knew it."

"I was making fun of Donut."

"Hey!" Donut said, only offended now that he knew he was being mocked.

"You were making fun of Donut by making yourself sound stupid?" Simmons questioned. "That's even dumber than having to go to the SEP course."

"It's only dumb if you go, Simmons."

"You are all going," Washington said, losing the little patience that he had for his employees. "Everyone. All seven of us. The reds, blues, and myself. Every member of RVB Air. Anyone who doesn't go," Wash warned, although it sounded quite a bit like a threat, if employers threatened their employees, which of course would never happen, "will no longer work for this airline. No exceptions."

 

  
Far too soon for anyone's liking, Monday arrived.

"That is a minivan," Church said as they all stood around what was to be their mode of transportation in Ipswich.

"What an amazing observation from our brilliant captain. What wisdom will he reveal to us next? Maybe that the sky is blue?"

"Shut the fuck up, Tucker," Church snapped. "Wash, why the hell are we traveling in a minivan?"

"There are seven of us. It was either this or multiple vehicles, which we can't afford. Besides, it is only to get us from the airport to the training facility and back. Things might get a little crowded, but it's hardly a long trip."

"Shotgun!"

"Shotgun! Fuck!"

The two red pilots raced to call dibs on the front seat of the van.

"Shotgun's lap!" Donut called soon after.

"Fuck!"

"No one is sitting in anybody's lap," Washington said.

"Oh thank god."

"Nor is anybody sitting up front with me. You are all sitting in the back."

"But-"

"In the van. Now," he demanded. "Good lord I run a kindergarten."

The employees of RVB Air grumbled but complied, and not long after they were underway.

"Randy vapid birds," Simmons said.

"Not bad, but I've got a better one," Grif declared. "Rancid volatile bananas."

"Of course yours has to do with food, fat ass."

They were playing a lovely little word game that always drove their employer up the wall: guess what the r v b stands for in RVB Air.

"Random vicious badgers," Church added.

"Rescue volcano bangers," Tucker said.

"I hate to ask," Grif interjected, " but are volcano bangers people banging _on_ a volcano, or people trying to bang volcanoes?"

"Does it matter?" Church asked Grif.

The red shrugged. "Not really."

"Riots, victory, and balloons!" Donut exclaimed.

"Now that you all have guessed, you can stop this ridiculous game," Wash said.

"I haven't guessed yet," Caboose pointed out.

"Fine Caboose. What do you think RVB stands for?" Washington asked even though he and the rest of the company all knew what he was about to say.

"Red vs Blue."

"No, Caboose. It still doesn't stand for red vs blue."

"Well my answer makes more sense than than anybody else's," Caboose said, pouting. "Volcano bangers. Stupid Tucker."

"That is true," Washington admitted.

Nobody really remembered who had started calling the two crews the reds and blues, but the names came from the color of ink that Washington used to write their schedules on the wall chart to differentiate who was going on what flights. It was stupid but the names stuck.

"But just because your answer is less wrong doesn't make it right."

"Well if you just told us what it stood for..." Simmons suggested.

"No."

"Reusable vomit bags," Tucker guessed.

The reds and blues all turned to look at him.

"Eww," came Donut's noise of disgust.

It was Grif who laughed first. "That might just be the greatest one yet."

"Even better than 'really very bad'?" Simmons asked, as that was the reigning champion as agreed upon by everyone. Which was nothing short of a miracle for the reds and blues of RVB Air, who never seemed to agree on anything.

"I think so," Church said. "Reusable Vomit Bag Airline," he snorted. "We'd have to be pretty damn poor to have to reuse a barf bag." By the time he made it to the end of the sentence, Church's words were barely discernible from his laughter.

"Whose job would it be to clean those out?" Donut asked, still grimacing. "Because I would not. You couldn't pay me enough."

"Not it," the red pilots said in unison.

"Would turning on the no smoking sign make the smell better or worse?" Caboose wondered.

"You mean the one that makes the entire cabin smell like fish?" Church asked.

Caboose nodded.

"Why the hell would that make the smell any better? All that's likely to do is make more people vomit."

"Why does that one light make everything smell anyway?" Tucker asked.

"Well I can tell you what we weren't doing," Grif replied.

"Enough," Wash said, finally reaching his limit of their chatter. "No more talking unless it is related to preparing for the SEP."

It was Simmons of course who suggested practice questions. To the surprise of no one, Grif responded by calling him a nerd. They all ended up answering questions anyway.

"Give me another one," Caboose said.

"All right," Wash complied. " How many loud hailers are there in the aft cabinet?"

"Okay, and the aft is the one at the front?"

"Back," Wash corrected.

"Back, back, I meant back."

"The fore comes before, the aft comes after."

"I haven't heard that one before," Donut commented.

"That's because no one but Caboose has ever needed a mnemonic for fore and aft," Church said.

"Two in the aft cabinet, none in the fore, one in the flight deck," Simmons answered.

"Yes, Simmons," Washington sighed, " but please try and let Caboose and the others answer one."

"How do you know all of this stuff, red?" Tucker asked.

"Because he is a kiss-ass nerd with nothing better to do because he's too scared to talk to women," Grif said.

"It is my duty to be familiar with the safety equipment of the aircraft I command." Simmons replied proudly, ignoring his first officer's comment.

"Goodness," Tucker replied. "Harken to the mighty woof of the alpha dog."

"What?" Washington asked.

"Caboose was telling us about some wildlife documentary," Grif explained. "Now Simmons is laboring under the delusion that he is the alpha dog of this organization."

"As is Church," Tucker added.

"I see. And I'm sure you two both reminded them that I am."

"You have the loudest bark," Church grumbled.

"That's rich coming from you," Washington replied.

"Tucker, you give me a question," Caboose said next.

"Oh I don't know any of this stuff."

"What?!" Simmons squeaked. "How do you think you're going to pass the exam?"

"Luck."

"You can't rely on luck."

"You can't rely on luck. My luck, looks and charm have gotten me this far in life, I sincerely doubt they are about to fail me now."

Caboose turned to the blue captain. "Church, you give me one."

"At what number of passengers does it become compulsory to carry at least one flight attendant?"

"Well," Caboose thought his answer through before responding. "We always carry at least one flight attendant. So, therefore... no passengers?"

"No, nineteen."

"Oh, all right. It depends though."

"No, idiot, it doesn't depend, the answer is nineteen."

"Yeah, but if it's somewhere nice Wash will come. Or if the passengers are important. Or if he's bored."

"Yes, but if you say any of that, you'll fail, whereas if you say nineteen, you wont fail. Do you understand that? Nineteen, nineteen passengers, one cabin crew. Nineteen."

"Nineteen," Simmons confirmed.

"Nineteen," Grif mocked.

"Nineteen."

"Nineteen," Donut and Tucker added as well because they didn't want to be left out.

"Will you all quit saying nineteen?" Washington chided them.

"I didn't say nineteen," Caboose informed him.

"That is exactly the problem," Church groaned.

Shortly after that, they arrived at their destination.

"Hello! Hello! Mr. Washington?"

"Yes."

"I'm Frank DuFresne. You can call me Doc though."

"Here are captains Church and Simmons, first officers Tucker and Grif," Wash introduced his pilots. "No, no, no the other way around."

"Why can no one ever tell that we're the captains?" Church complained to Simmons.

"And finally Donut and Caboose, stewards," Washington wrapped up the introductions.

"Right, so you're the advanced guard, are you?" Doc asked.

"How do you mean?" Washington replied.

"Well, just that the others haven't arrived yet."

"Which others would those be?"

"Well," Doc said awkwardly, "the rest of the airline?"

"Doc DuFresne, you see before you, the airline. Drink us in."

"There's seven hundred of you?"

"Are there though? Count again."

"Not seven hundred,"

"Seven."

"Right. That's unfortunate. I should probably speak to catering. Anyway, welcome, I'll be looking after the classroom side of thing and Sarge- Sarge can I borrow you?" Doc called out to his college to come over.

"Good morning," the man named Sarge greeted them.

"After a quick CRM lecture," Doc continued talking, "Sarge here will be putting you through the pool drill, then after lunch we'll have the exam, and finally Sarge will take you through the smoke-filled fuselage."

"Metaphorically?" Grif asked.

"No, dirtbag," Sarge replied. "We had a bit of a job getting our hands on a metaphorical fuselage, and even if we could track one down, it's a pain to fill it with a simile of some smoke."

"I see," Grif replied, obviously not pleased with being called a dirtbag. "Tell me Mr. Sargent"

"Sarge," Sarge corrected.

Grif ignored him and continued. "Were you in the Air Force by any chance?"

"I was."

"And were you a Sargent, Sarge?"

"No, I wasn't a Sargent because as we just established I was in the Air Force, not the army. So I was a warrant officer. And since my name is not Warren Tofficer, your stupid little joke doesn't work, dirtbag."

"Right, good! Good to get that sorted out," Doc interrupted before the situation could escalate. "Now if you'll excuse me, I'm just gonna dash off and do what I can to hold back seven hundred quiches."

"He is really fast," Tucker noted as they all watched Doc bolt away.

"Thanks!" Doc called back to them, "I ran track in high school."

When the pilots entered the lecture hall for their crew and resource management lecture, three of them decided not to be difficult. The fourth of course came to the conclusion that all of them behaving would ruin their reputation and give Doc the incorrect impression that any of them actually cared. So he stuck to the normal plan of ignoring what was expected of him and instead doing his own thing. 

"Why are you sitting all the way in the back, Grif?" Simmons asked, exasperated. 

"I always sit in the back," Grif replied, far too casually for his fellow red's liking. 

"Well everyone else is down here," Simmons pointed out as if Grif simply hadn't noticed. 

"I know. I have eyes."

"Come down then so it's less awkward."

"How is it awkward?"

"Because there are only four of us in a lecture hall with eight hundred seats in it."

"And some of those seats are at the back. If you are so desperate for us all to sit together, then you come up here."

Thankfully, before the argument could get any further, Doc entered the room, panting out an apology. "Sorry I'm late. I was trying to find the caterers."

"Did you?" Simmons asked. 

"No. Hope you guys are hungry," Doc joked, but nobody laughed. After a few moments of awkward silence, Doc noticed that there was one pilot too few. He looked around the hall and once he spotted the fourth said, "Grif, do you want to join us down here, maybe?"

"No, I'm fine," came the reply. 

"Right, fair enough. All right, well, um, why don't we come and join you at the back?"

Simmons grumbled but begrudgingly followed as Doc made his way up to Grif. The blues tagged along as well, not wanting to be dragged into the petty argument about who sat where. They would find their own petty thing to argue about soon enough they figured, so why be dragged into the red team's problems as well? 

"Now then," Doc started, once they were all settled. I want to talk to you today about the potentially dangerous mindsets a pilot can get themselves into, and in particular what are known as the six deadly Is. These are-"

"Impatience, Impulsivity, invulnerability, insecurity, indecision, and 'I know best'." Simmons rattled off the answer in a single breath. 

"Absolutely, yes, gosh, well done," Doc said wondering if even he could ramble off the Is that quickly. "Let's take them one by one. 'I know best' is the anti-authority attitude that rules and regulations don't apply to you, that you make up your own laws. Now I don't know if any of you have ever flown with anyone like that-"

That summed up RVB Air so well it might as well be their slogan, and yet Simmons was the only one who felt the need to voice the thought aloud. 

He raised his hand like he was sitting in an elementary school classroom. "Yeah, me, I have, yes, I definitely have."

"Right well don't name any names," Doc said as if that was the only possible way to figure out the identity of the pilot Simmons was talking about.

"No, no, certainly not. Let's call him Gruff. Gruff ignores safety briefing, tech checks, he can barely be persuaded to file a flight plan. He basically thinks he's always right."

"Has it occurred to you that maybe Gruff is always right?" Grif asked. 

"It's certainly occurred to Gruff."

"And Tucker," Church added. 

"Fuck off. Don't act like you're perfect," Tucker shot back. 

"Okay, great," Doc said awkwardly, unaccustomed to the normal bickering. "Next impulsivity. That's the tendency of some pilots to panic under pressure, to do the first thing they think of just for the sake of doing something. Now again, you may never have-"

"Actually," Grif said, "that does ring a little bell."

"Oh, well again, without naming names," Doc reminded him.

"This guy, who could be literally any of the other pilots in RVB Air, let's call him Simon , once requested an emergency landing because his watch went off."

"It was a new watch with a very odd alarm," Simmons defended himself. 

"Oh. Have you flown with Simon , Simmons? He's just the absolute worst, wouldn't you say?"

"Then there's insecurity" Doc pressed on, "always trying to prove he's as good a pilot as anyone else."

"Simon."

"Church."

"Impatience, sacrifices procedure or even safety to save time."

"Gruff."

"Tucker."

"And finally indecision. Getting caught in the headlights of a problem and being unable to settle on a plan of action."

"And Simon."

"I thought you said Simon impulsively did the first thing he thought of," Simmons retorted, thinking he had won the argument. 

"Amazingly, Simon manages to combine both, doing whichever is least appropriate to the situation."

"Okay, well what's good here is that we're fostering a real openness in the group."

"Does he still really think that's a good thing?" Tucker whispered to Church. 

Meanwhile, Washington and the stewards were going over practice questions again. 

"Where are the asbestos fire gloves kept?" Wash asked. 

"Oh, I know this one. In the galley on top of the microwave," Caboose said proudly. 

"No," Wash corrected, "they're behind the captain's seat."

"They're not though. They're on top of the microwave," Donut confirmed. 

"Yes, I know that's where they  
actually are, but that's not where you should say they are."

"Why not?" 

"Because we probably shouldn't let the CAA examiner know that you use vital safety equipment as oven mitts. Despite the number of times that I've told you both not to."

"Oh hi, Sarge," Donut said far too cheerily considering how much trouble they would all be in if Sarge overhead their conversation. 

Wash and Sarge shared a moment of tense eye contact before the latter spoke. 

"In the Air Force we used to use the CO2 fire extinguishers to cool the beer. Just don't let Doc hear you. Speaking of which, he needs to talk to you," he informed Washington. 

With a curt nod, Washington headed out the door with only a quick reminder to Donut and Caboose to keep quizzing each other. 

Not long after, Sarge left the room as well and quickly discovered that he had a Caboose on his heels.

"What do you want?"

"Donut is writing his wizard story, so could you give me a question?"

"No," Sarge said firmly. Caboose sighed. Then after a moment Sarge spoke again. "Now you didn't hear this from me, but do you want to know something interesting about the passenger oxygen generators on your aircraft?"

"Yes please."

"They produced oxygen for exactly twelve minutes."

Caboose's face scrunched up and he replied. "That's not very interesting."

"Well if I was studying for an exam, I would find it very interesting."

"No. I'm studying for an exam, and it's still not interesting."

"You're an idiot," Sarge grumbled, walking away. 

Once Doc was done talking to Washington, he returned to the lecture hall and told Church and Simmons that they were free to go. 

As the captains left the room, Tucker said, "Why the hell do they get to leave?"

"Well," Doc began, "this next part is just for the first officers."

"But there are only two of us," Tucker pointed out.

"Yes, well, best to stick to the plan. Now you see, a common problem in flight decks with poor crew resource management is that the first officer is overly in awe of the captain."

"Our captains?" Tucker asked, barely managing to contain his laughter. 

"You did actually see our captains, right?" Grif added. "No one is going to be awed by either of them anytime soon. Especially not us."

"Caboose being the exception."

"Anyway," Doc said, still hoping that if he just kept talking that eventually they would listen to him, "the method I want to teach you is the five step statement. Now imagine you've noticed a problem but you're shy about bringing it up with your captain."

Tucker did laugh that time. It was loud and unashamed. 

"Step one -"

"Hold on," Grif interrupted. 

"Yes?"

"No, it's just that this is going to need a lot of imagination," Grif explained. He paused for a long moment to emphasize his point. "Okay."

"Step one -"

"No, it's gone again. Can't I picture something easier or more likely to actually happen, like pigs flying or the zombie apocalypse?"

Doc didn't even bother dignifying that with a response. "Step one" he said for the third time. "First you get his attention . Now depending on how well you get along, that might be 'excuse me sir,' or 'eh captain?' or in an informal flight deck it might just be 'hey, chief'."

"What about 'yo asshole'?" Tucker asked. 

"Yeah, or 'listen up kissass'?"

"That's a bit too informal," Doc informed them, doing his best to stay calm no matter how badly they tried his patience. "You do still need to be professional."

"Oh yes. How could we forget?" Tucker rolled his eyes. 

"Yes, so step two: state your concern in a non-confrontational manner. 'Hey chief, I might be wrong."

"I might be wrong?" Grif sounded offended at the mere thought. 

"Yes. That's a good trick for taking the sting out of it. 'I might be wrong, but I think we're low on fuel.' Step three: let him know how you feel about this. 'This makes me feel uneasy.' Step four: propose a solution. 'One thing we could do is reduce our speed.' Step five: obtain buy-in to your idea. 'How does that sound to you?'

"That sounds like the biggest load of-"

Doc cut Tucker off before he could finish his sentence. "No,no, no, that's what you might say. So do you want to role-play that through now?"

"Bow chicka bow wow."

"What?" Doc asked, confused. 

"Ignore him," Grif said. "How did it start again? Oh yeah. Hey chief, I might be wrong, but I think we're flying into a mountain. This makes me feel scared of the mountain. One thing we could do is pull up and fly over the mountain. How does that sound to -" and the grand finale to the five step sarcastic statement was Grif imitating sounds of a crash. 

"In that situation you might need to react a little more instinctively."

"Oh, do you think so?" Grif replied, feigning innocence. 

Not long after, Doc cut the first officers lecture short and quickly passed them all off to Sarge. 

"Welcome to the pool drill," Sarge said. "What we're going to do now is check and see that you know how to get off of your burning aircraft and into your nice safe floaty boat. So there you are, up in your little plane somewhere above the North Atlantic, when suddenly, beep beep beep two engine failures. So say your prayers and kiss your butts goodbye boys because you only have two engines. By some miracle you don't crash, all survive, and successfully glide to a false landing. The exercise begins just as you have glid the plane to sea level."

"Glid?" Donut asked. "That feels weird in my mouth."

"Bow chicka bow wow."

"God damnit Donut!"

"What? I'm just saying I don't think that glid is a word."

"Of course it is."

"Of course it's not."

Grif and Simmons replied simultaneously. And then quickly began bickering on the subject. 

"Glid does sound kind of stupid," Tucker said to Church. 

"I think it might be glided," Church replied. 

"I think you're right," Tucker agreed, and for the blues, that was all there was to say on the matter. 

The reds meanwhile were still going at it.

Sarge blew his whistle loud and continuously until everyone stopped talking and covered their ears. He chuckled. "Now that I have your attention, dirtbags, when I blow my whistle, jump into the pool, inflate the life raft, and conduct standard emergency procedures." 

Once again Sarge blew his whistle, and four of the seven jumped in. 

Donut dipped his foot in and quickly pulled it back out. Simmons was fidgeting with something in his hands. Grif however, simply looked like he had no intention of moving, which wasn't much of a surprise at all for anyone who knew the pilot.

"Everybody in!" Sarge shouted. 

"But it's so cold," Donut pointed out.

"That's because the ocean is cold. Now get in the water."

Reluctantly the red steward complied. 

"You two next."

"Yes sir," Simmons responded curtly. "Just as soon as I put these earplugs in." 

"You don't need earplugs."

"I do actually," Simmons said shakily. "I have a slight abnormality of the inner ear."

Now while it was hardly a feat of great bravery, it was still Simmons in his own nervous and nerdy way standing up to authority and although he'd never say it, Grif was rather proud. For a moment. Then Sarge raised his voice, making his co-pilot squeak and jump in the pool just like all the rest. 

Grif moved. Barely. With one foot, he nudged the life raft, that none of the others had seemed to remember, into the water. 

Donut, who was closest, inflated it and everyone in the water quickly scrambled to get in. 

"Why are you still not in the pool?"

"First officer retrieves life raft, gives it to cabin crew."

"And now that you've done that, get in the pool."

"No."

"Why if I had my shotgun," Sarge grumbled mainly to himself. 

"Is that supposed to scare me?" Grif replied. "Sorry Sarge but I was never in the Air Force, so I don't have a fear of loud, red-faced men with bristly heads. I was however in charge of an aircraft for several years."

"Though not now," Simmons piped up. 

If looks could kill, Grif's glare would have sunk the life raft in an instant. Probably could have even sunk the Titanic. 

"Though not now," he seethed and continued. "And believe it or not, but I learned a few things. Like if the engines are stopped, there is no risk of fire. So it would be stupid to get my clothes wet and risk hypothermia when I could just wait on the wing of the aircraft until the boat gets closer." He stepped in. "Ta da."

"I suppose you think you're clever, don't you dirtbag?" Sarge asked. 

Grif smirked. "I sometimes do."

"I originally thought that Grif was just being lazy," Donut admitted, "but that actually made some sense."

"Don't give him too much credit, Donut," Simmons spoke up. "He was definitely being lazy. Just because he can talk his way out of it doesn't change that."

"The red is smarter than I would have ever given him credit for."

"There was a reason I hired him," Washington added. 

"You actually had reasons for hiring all of us?" Tucker asked. "Damn, there goes my theory that you just pulled random resumes out of a hat and hired all the names you pulled."

"Stupid Tucker," Caboose spoke up. "You can not fit very many resumes in a hat. Not even a big one."

"I bet you can fit at least six."

In the time that it took the six wet members of RVB Air to dry off and change, Grif found the dining hall and polished off three quiches.  
By the time that everyone else had finished their lunch, Grif kept going and Simmons was staring with a fascinated horror. 

"How many of those have you eaten?" Simmons asked. 

"Seven," Caboose replied proudly. "What about you guys?"

"One," everyone except Grif replied. 

"You know, the normal amount of quiche for an adult human male," Church elaborated, exasperated. 

"But I thought Doc said we each had to eat one hundred. Do we get to take home the ones we can't finish?"

Grif opened his mouth to respond, but Washington beat him to it. 

"No. Under no circumstance are we bringing nearly seven hundred quiches back with us. Just no."

"Could we even fit them all on SHEILA?"

"Of course we could, they're not otters."

"Not this again."

"Why the hell would we be flying a plane full of otters anyway? It makes no sense."

"It's just an example."

"Well your example makes no fucking sense."

"Do otters eat quiche?"

"No Caboose."

"How many otters do you think Grif could eat?"

"What the fuck sort of question is that?"

"Besides, we still don't even know how many quiches he can eat."

"A nice, round, even, baker's dozen," Grif told them all. 

"First of all, a dozen is not a round number," Simmons corrected. "Second of all," he continued, "a baker's dozen is thirteen, so it's not an even number either." 

"You know," Donut said, "if you eat one more than you will have eaten twice as many as there are people in our group. And if you eat three more," he continued, "then you will have eaten enough to feed every passenger that SHEILA could hold at once. That's-"

"Disgusting."

"Disturbing." The others spoke up. 

"Nineteen!"

"No, Caboose!"

"I was going to say a man who sure knows how to use his mouth."

"Bow chicka bow wow."

"God damnit, Donut!"

"God damnit, Tucker!"

 

After lunch came the exam. 

"Simmons," Doc began, "how are the passenger oxygen masks activated?"

"Automatically by a barometric pressure switch when the cabin altitude is fourteen thousand feet."

"Nerd," Grif coughed, not even trying to be subtle. 

"Well someone has to know it, and you sure as hell don't," Simmons snapped back. 

"They are also activated" Grif added, "when the switch on the overhead panel is turned on." He stuck his tongue out at his co-pilot. "Not every answer has to be complicated."

The next question was for Washington. "How many smoke hoods are there in the rear storage compartment?"

"Two."

"See?" Grif gloated. 

"Would you care to elaborate on that?" Doc asked. 

Now it was Simmons turn to look cocky.

"There is one, and another one, totaling two." Washington replied.

Doc realized that no further elaboration was coming and quickly moved on as Grif and Simmons quietly acknowledged their stalemate. 

"Tucker, a slightly obscure one for you I'm afraid: At what number of passengers does it become compulsory to carry at least one flight attendant?"

"You would get that one," Church grumbled. 

"Could it be, nineteen?"

"That's correct."

Finally it came down to Caboose. "For how long does a passenger oxygen generator produce oxygen once activated?"

"Oh that's a coincidence! Someone was just talking to me about that."

"So you know the answer?" Washington asked, sounding relieved. 

"No," Caboose replied. "I wasn't listening."

"Of course not," Wash groaned. 

Fortunately they only had one more torturous activity to endure. Unfortunately it was the fuselage drill. 

"Welcome back ladies and dirtbags," Sarge greeted them, sounding exactly as happy to see them as they were to see him. "Here is the mock-up fuselage that has been set up exactly like your decrepit deathtrap of a plane with the tiny improvement that it's been filled with smoke."

"Hey! Don't say mean things about SHEILA," Caboose said defensively. "She is a beautiful and delicate flower."

"Caboose, SHEILA is like ninety percent gaffer tape and hope. I think Sarge was being nice," Church said. 

"She runs on faith, trust, and pixie dust," Donut added.

"Isn't that how the powerpuff girls were created?" Grif asked. 

"No! That was chemical x, and they weren't pixies, dumbass!" Simmons informed his red teammate. 

"What were they then?" 

"They were normal little girls."

"Normal little girls don't fly," Grif pointed out, "or have eyes that large. Is that why you're scared of women, because you think they all secretly have superpowers and can kick your ass?"

"A normal little girl could kick Simmons' ass," Church commented. 

"Gentlemen," Washington interrupted, for once effectively silencing the reds and blues. 

"Also," Sarge continued speaking as if there had been no interruption, "somewhere inside is Lopez, a life-sized life-weight dummy representing an unlucky passenger. Obviously, any passenger of RVB Air is by definition an unlucky passenger, but this one is unlucky even by your own high standards down there at the bottom of the barrel. Lopez is relying on you to save him. When I blow my whistle, you miserable lot will don your smoke hoods, enter the fuselage in a random order, locate Lopez and retrieve him in under five minutes. The random order is as follows: Caboose, Tucker, Washington, Simmons, Donut, Grif, Church. 

"I don't think that I should go first," Caboose stated.

"Neither do I, that's why you're going first," Sarge informed him. "Go!" He blew his whistle and they all scrambled to pull on their smoke hoods and entered the fuselage. "In, in, in! And remember to hold onto the belt of the crew member in front of you!" Sarge shouted after them. 

"Caboose, have you found anything?" Washington asked after nearly four of their five minutes had passed. 

"No,"

"Has anyone?"

"I can't see anything over Caboose," Tucker complained.

"I can't see anything around Grif," Church joined in. 

"Fuck you, blue," Grif shot back. 

"Anybody else?" Wash asked.

"No," Simmons replied, "but I am a bit"

There was a loud thud.

"What was that?" Tucker asked. 

"Simmons fell over," Caboose replied, although he didn't sound particularly concerned about it. 

"How the hell do you know it was Simmons?" Tucker asked.

"Because Church, Grif, and Donut are all pretty short and easy to see over."

"Why are you looking over them, you are in the lead?" 

"But Sarge said everyone needed to be holding a belt, so I held Church's."

"He didn't mean you, stupid blue," Grif grumbled. 

"Nevermind that now," Washington interrupted, "is Simmons alright?"

"I think so, but my screen's a bit misted up," Donut said. "I'll just-"

"So what exactly happened?" Doc asked them all as the owner and crew members of RVB Air sat in the lecture hall once more, looking like they had all just been badly beaten in a fight with a goose. 

"Yeah dirtbags, what happened? Let's see if we can piece it together for the good doctor," Sarge said. "How many bodies did you rescue from the fuselage?"

"That actually needed rescuing," Washington said, "two."

"Two," Sarge repeated. "Pretty good considering that I only put one in there."

"Yeah, we didn't rescue him," Tucker pointed out. 

"And who did you rescue, Tucker?" Doc asked. 

"Donut."

"And why was Strawberry Shortcake on the floor of the fuselage? Getting some beauty sleep were you?"

"No," Donut replied, "I got a bit smoke-filled. 

"Yes you did. Because in the smoke-filled cabin, in order to see more clearly, you told off your smoke hood. And what were you trying to see more clearly?"

"The body in front of me."

"The body in front of you. The body that Grif brought out of the fuselage. The body of"

"Simmons," Grif added.

"And what was Simmons doing on the floor?" Sarge asked, although he already knew the answer, and was simply enjoying watching the blues and reds emberassed as they explained their failures over again.

"As I believe I've mentioned before," Simmons spoke, nervously, "I have a slight abnormality of the inner ear. It's perfectly airworthy," he clarified, "but it means I, uh, I-I-I black out of I get dizzy."

"Why were you dizzy?" Doc asked.

"Because we were going in circles," Simmons told him.

"Why were you doing that?" Doc asked, not yet understanding. 

"Because Caboose was holding onto my belt," Church finally spoke.

"Exactly, because you were all holding on to each other's belts, going around and around in the smoke-filled cabin playing ring around the rosie!"

"I saved Church and Washington," Caboose said proudly.

"We didn't need saving, Caboose," Church complained. 

"Meanwhile," Sarge interrupted, "Lopez looked on, burning merrily to a crisp. So I hope it comes as no surprise that you have well and truly failed the SEP."

"No," Washington said, his face losing all color. "You can't fail us."

"I not only can, I have to. And I not only have to, I want to," Sarge informed him. 

"Quite right, Sarge," Doc spoke up, absolutely. Although of course you could maybe let them retake it."

"I could," Sarge admitted, "if I had any reason to believe that they were at an unfair disadvantage. Which I don't."

"But you put the bluetard in the lead," Grif said. "Had it been literally anyone else we would have been fine. Even Donut would have been better than Caboose."

"Oh that would have been fun having all of you on my behind as we searched for our man."

"Even that would have been preferable."

"A crew is only as strong as it's weakest link," Sarge replied, "and your weakest link is very weak indeed." And with that he left the room. 

"Doc," Washington asked, "can I have a word with you?"

"I'm sorry Washington but Sarge is right, and Caboose did fail his exam as well."

"I have a very safe company," Washington insisted. "I have a safe pilot and a good pilot, and the safe pilot's in charge of the- no wait, that's the reds." He tried again. "Church won't let them get into trouble, but if they do, Tucker will-" Washington cursed quietly under his breath. No, that was the reds again.

There was only one other thing that Washington could think of to say in order to possibly save RVB Air. "Caboose doesn't do anything. He just serves meals. If anything went wrong I would handle it, and if I wasn't on board the pilots would handle it. Caboose is basically just a passenger in a hat. And that is only because he made himself a hat."

"Hey chief," Grif interrupted.

"Chief?" Wash asked, raising an eyebrow. 

"Tucker and I were told that 'yo asshole' was not considered appropriate in a 'professional environment.' So yes, chief. I might be wrong," it sounded as if those words actually pained Grif to say, "but I think that Caboose is about to lose us all our jobs."

"Grif, this is not-"

"Hold on, I'm only on step two," he informed his employer. "This makes me feel unemployed. And a little surprised since I've heard quite a lot today that the number of passengers at which it becomes compulsory to carry a flight attendant is"

"Nineteen!" Caboose shouted from across the room. Well at least he got it right eventually. Even if it was a bit late.

"And I was just wondering how often that's going to happen on our plane, with it's sixteen seats."

"Ah," Washington replied.

"And how does that sounds to you?"

"Doc, we've had a slight company reorganization in the last few... seconds."

"Have you?" Doc asked. 

"Caboose!" Wash shouted without even turning around, "You're fired!"

"What?!"

"Now we have," Washington said to Doc. 

"Cinnamon Roll, what am I going to do?" Caboose cried out. 

"Don't worry Michael," Donut said, rushing over to his side, "we'll figure something out." 

"We?" The blues asked.

"Michael?" The reds asked. 

Donut and Caboose ignored them all. 

"But where am I going to live if I can't pay rent? And you're not going to be able to pay rent either, not all of it on your own. So you're going to be homeless too and-"

"Calm down Michael, it will all work out somehow. Neither of us are going to be homeless, I promise." 

"Caboose and Donut live together?" Tucker asked no one in particular.

"They're roommates," Washington said simply, and all four pilots turned to look at him. "Or lovers, I never bothered to ask. It didn't really feel like any of my business."

"How do you know this?" Church wanted to know.

"How did none of us know this?" was Simmons' question.

"Your addresses are on your paychecks," Washington informed his pilots, "They have the same address." 

"So then how can you just screw both of them over like that?" Grif asked. 

"It was technically your suggestion," Simmons pointed out. 

"But I just thought that Wash was going to lie and put him on the passenger roster instead of the crew one or something like that. Blue or not, he's still part of RVB and I didn't mean to get him fired. Especially not if he's Donut's... whatever." He paused and looked over at the stewards again. "Do you think that they're...we're fairly certain Donut is...but is Caboose?" Grif asked the blues. 

"Caboose's basketball team has both NBA and WNBA players on it," Tucker replied. 

"So your guess is as good as ours," Church added. 

"Either way Wash is a heartless bastard for firing Caboose knowing it would effect Donut as well," Grif said. 

"I'm not a" Washington let out a frustrated sigh. He had a plan. Did all of his employees really think he could be that cruel? Better to just show them than trying to explain. "Donut, come over here for a moment. I need to talk to you."

Donut was reluctant to leave Caboose's side, but did, knowing that whatever his employer was about to say was going to be important. And even though he was upset with Washington at the moment, he still needed to hear him out. 

"Yes?"

"So as you may have heard, RVB now only has one steward. Which means a lot more work for you," Washington said. "And that's not very fair. So to make it up to you, I'm doubling your pay."

"What?" Donut squeaked out, uncertain if he had heard properly.

"And since Caboose is now unemployed, I'm assuming that he's going to be very bored by himself all the time. Especially since you are going to be away from home more than usual. So if he wants to come by and see you or the blues, since I know they're all good friends, I really wouldn't mind."

Catching on, Donut asked "but Washington, won't it be rather hard for him to visit us? We are after all an airline. Most of our time isn't spent at the airfield, it's in the air."

"Then I guess he'll just have to come on some flights with us then, won't he? And as a frequent flier, he may choose to... help the other passengers, you know, always be first to offer to get the coffee and serve dinner and... stay behind after to clean up the aircraft."

"I think he would like that a lot," Donut said. "It would be almost like being a steward."

"But in the eyes of god and the CAA, Caboose will simply be an unusually helpful passenger. Who wears a hat."

"Well that, that would make things a lot easier," Doc commented. "Just as long as the rest of you pass the fuselage drill."

"Doc, it has long been a maxim of RVB Air that when Caboose stops helping, we can do anything."

They finished the fuselage drill in four minutes and fifty-two seconds, or as Sarge so kindly informed them "the very definition of barely adequate." They had rescued Lopez in under the time limit, that was all that mattered to them. "So on the strict understanding that Caboose has no official role on the aircraft whatsoever," Sarge informed them, "You all pass."

Never before had there been a more honest cheer for being barely adequate. 

"Except for you." Sarge pointed at the red pilots. 

"Why? What did I do? Please give me another chance," Simmons begged. 

"Not you. The fat one."

"Hey!" 

"No one passes my SEP training without demonstrating to my satisfaction that they can swim strongly in uniform and rescue a body from the water."

"We'll see about that."

"Grif, shut up," Washington demanded. "Simmons, pass me Lopez." And then Washington threw the dummy into the pool and told Grif "fetch."

**Author's Note:**

> That was Cabin Pressure. It starred Agent Washington as Carolyn, Dexter Grif and Lavernius Tucker as Douglas, Richard Simmons and Leonard Church as Martin, and Franklin Donut and Michael J Caboose as Arthur. It also starred  
> Frank "Doc" DuFresne as Dr. Duncan, and Sarge as Mr. Sargent.


End file.
